


Dalliance

by TaergaLive



Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [9]
Category: Baldur's Gate
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28459296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaergaLive/pseuds/TaergaLive
Summary: "When it gets quiet, Shadowheart looks at them all. 'Oh, I stopped listening once Gale started speaking.''That sounds about right,' Gale nods."The gang goes into town and do some bonding. Sephrin tries to figure out what goes through Astarion's mind.
Relationships: Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Baldur's Gate 3 one-shots [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061618
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38





	Dalliance

**Author's Note:**

> I won't lie; not much happens in this one. But it was fun to write. The next one will be better, I promise lol

Snap. Snap. Snap.

Wyll watches as Glynren throws the broken twigs into the dying fire. The elf watches them burn for a moment or two before picking up another twig and snapping it in pieces as well. 

“I see your vigil went well,” Wyll chuckles, taking a seat next to the elf. 

Glynren can’t help but glare. It was bad enough he found out last night Astarion had had sex with his younger sister, but then to spend the night with her in her tent? The very idea made him ill. He couldn’t sleep, his ears straining to hear any noise that might come from the tent. He did not trust Astarion in the slightest, afraid he’d take advantage of Sephrin’s naivety. Luckily, Glynren didn’t hear a sound from the tent all night. 

“I can’t believe he had the gall to sleep in there after last night,” Glynren scowls, working on another stick. 

Shaking his head, Wyll reaches over to nudge one of the logs in the pit. It allows air to ignite some of the dying embers. “Remember what Gale and I told you.”

“I know,” Glynren sighs. “I’m...not going to interfere.” He pauses. “Unless something bad happens, in which case I’m definitely going to interfere.” 

Wyll laughs and pats the elf’s shoulder. “I get it. You don’t want to see her get hurt. And I suppose it’s not easy knowing about your sister’s...well, love life.”

That adds color to Glynren’s face as he groans. “Please don’t remind me.” He glances at hand still on his shoulder and frowns in thought. “Wyll, you can’t tell me you trust Astarion any more than I do. He lied to us, hid from us what he was. And the only reason he came clean is because he got caught.”

Grunting, Wyll stands, staring into the flames which now seem to spring to life. “We all have our secrets, Glyn. I’ve shared with you mine.” 

Glynren shrugs and glances away. “True, but that was...different.” He recalls the story Wyll told him, of how he got his powers, of how he wanted to get rid of them, of what needed to be done to do so. 

“I might not have been hiding fangs,” Wyll glances to him, “But I was still hiding something. We all do. To protect ourselves. To protect others.”

He wants to argue more, but Glynren cuts himself short as the flap of his sister’s tent opens. Blinking into the light comes the very subject of their conversation, giving them a smug smile as he finishes buttoning up his doublet. 

“Good morning, gentlemen,” he chimes, “I take it we all slept well?” 

Glynren grits his teeth at him, which only makes Astarion’s smile grow. Subtly, Wyll moves to stand between the two. They can threaten each other with their eyes all they want, but he’s not going to let a brawl break out. Luckily for him, the tent opens again and Sephrin steps out. Her eyes are fixated on the ground, her arms hugging herself tightly. Wyll can’t help but frown. Poor girl must feel so exposed. The smug smile disappears from Astarion’s face, though he makes a point to give Glynren a hard stare before looking to Sephrin. She doesn’t look at him, though. She makes her way to find privacy. 

Wyll looks at each of them. “Good. You managed to not kill each other. Now, I might be going out on a limb here, but the two of you obviously don’t like each other, but you have Sephrin in common.” He holds his hands up when he sees Astarion open his mouth. “Deny it if you want, but you do. So hate each other all you want, but remember that you hate each other for the same reason.” 

That makes Astarion smirk. “Ah, so that’s it, Glyn. You’re jealous I got to have your half-sister before you could.”

With one hand keeping Glynren from lashing out, Wyll gives Astarion a warning point. “Uncalled for.” 

Astarion shrugs. “It’s the only reason I can think he would be so furious with me.” 

Glynren scowls. “I’m  _ furious  _ because you’re taking advantage of my sister’s meekness and having your way with her.”

Wyll now holds both of them back as Astarion steps forward to get in Glynren’s face. The gleam in his eyes is both mischievous and dangerous. “I haven’t done a single thing to your sister that she hasn’t  _ wanted _ .” 

A growl from across the camp interrupts the argument. Lae’zel straps her armor to her chest. “Let them kill each other. It’s the only way to end this.”

“You’re not helping,” Wyll sighs. 

Lae’zel leers at him. “It benefits us all. The winner will be rid of their rival, and we won’t have to listen to their bickering.” 

While her words aren’t helpful, the distraction seems to cool Glynren’s blood. He backs down, but not without giving Astarion a warning stare. Astarion returns it with a pompous grin and a wiggle of his fingers. Wyll sighs. “If the mind flayers don’t kill me, this group will.” 

After taking care of her business, Sephrin stumbles upon a preening Gale. It’s not the first time she’s seen the wizard double himself, but she still cannot help but watch as he uses his double to trim his beard. It makes her wonder how she looks. She hasn’t looked in a mirror in days. 

“Need something?” Gale asks, glancing over at her. It unnerves her to have two Gales looking at her. 

She quickly shakes her head. “N-No, no, I’m...I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” He cranes his neck and runs a razor over the rogue hairs. The question makes her shift on her feet. It reminds her too much of last night. 

“For, for staring at you.” 

He shrugs. “You’re forgiven. Tell me,” he gives himself one more glance over before dispelling the illusion and wiping the shaving cream off his neck. “Why did you stop studying magic?” 

Of course, it shouldn’t have surprised her that he’d bring this up again. She understands he’s a wizard, but magic seems to be the only thing he ever wants to talk about. Hugging herself, she shrugs. “I just...couldn’t handle it.”

Having cleaned himself up, he turns to her. “What do you mean?” 

A lump grows in her throat. “When..when I touched it, I...I got scared, okay? It was the most...unnerving sensation I ever experienced.”

A beat. “The weave?” He tilts his head. “How old were you when you reached out for it?” 

She turns away under his scrutiny. “I, I don’t remember. Maybe ten? It was years ago.” 

“Ten?” Gale chuckles. “Well, that’s not unheard of but still impressive nevertheless. You should have kept going with it. Seems as though you were made for it.”

Was he not listening? “No! No, I...it felt invasive. It felt wrong.”

“Wrong!” He smiles.

“W-wrong?” Sephrin now regrets answering him. From the corner of her eye, she sees him shift into lecture mode. After all the drama of last night, she wants to disappear, not get trapped into a conversation. 

He moves closer to her. “Wrong. There’s nothing more natural than the magic that envelops us. What’s wrong is that you fought against it. If you were able to reach out and touch the weave, you were meant to.”

“What do you want from me?” she whispers. 

Noticing her expression, Gale holds his hands up. “I don’t want anything from you. This isn’t about me. It’s about you. You’re denying a part of yourself.”

She snaps her eyes to him. “And what? You want me to just start now? Are you going to offer to teach me and then toss me aside when I’m not good enough?” 

Gale studies her with a mixed expression. He starts to nod. “That’s what you’re afraid of. You’re afraid to try because you’re afraid to fail.” 

Sephrin grows quiet. If only he could hear what was going through her mind, how loudly it was screaming at her, how she’s not good enough. 

With a sad smile, Gale moves to pat her shoulder, but she flinches back. He lets his hand hover there for a moment before pursing his lips and nodding, dropping the hand. “Just think it over. You don’t have to make a decision this very second.” And with that, he takes his leave. 

It’s too early in the day for her to feel like this. Covering her face, she takes a deep breath and heads back for the camp. By this point, everyone is awake and preparing for the day. Shadowheart is putting her hair up. Lae’zel is glancing over a map of the area, insisting to Wyll where they need to go. Tension seems to linger in the air, and Sephrin knows it’s all her fault. Her eyes unfocus as her heart races. 

An apple is placed in her hands. And then lips are at her ears. “We have a deal,” they whisper before brushing past her hair and disappearing. It’s when she watches Astarion saunter off that she realizes what just happened. And it makes her blush, especially when her brother gives her a hard stare, probably trying to decipher what Astarion whispered to her. Astarion returns to his place under a tree, away from Sephrin, but as he leans against it, he watches her with impish glee. 

Biting into the apple, she tries to read him. Honestly, having their relationship uncovered, she was sure that was the end of things. What was the point of a fling if everyone knew about it? That was the only reason he agreed, wasn’t it? He could have his fun without any of the hassle. But now? Wasn’t the game over? As she studies him, his demeanor doesn’t change, but he does tilt his head slightly. It seems as though she’ll need to learn to interpret more of his expressions. 

After much bickering between Wyll and Lae’zel, with input from the others, it was decided that they need to gather supplies before they continue searching for the creche (much to Lae’zel’s annoyance). There was a small merchant town not too far from them. They would be able to head over, buy supplies, and depending on the time of day, they could stay the night before returning to camp. Astarion was sold promptly on the idea of visiting an actual town and not having to sleep in the dirt. And Gale thought it would be a good place to find more information about this so-called “Absolute.” People in town were bound to have heard something about it. 

So the seven of them found themselves following the stone road rather than traversing through woods or ruins. 

Sephrin keeps mostly to the rear of the group, not because she wants to but because she can never seem to keep pace with everyone else. Most of her exercise came from walking in her father’s library and climbing ladders to get books. But she’s been getting a bit better at pacing herself each day. Plus eating food regularly works wonders. Again, though, she finds herself confused as Astarion keeps close to her. They don’t exactly walk together, but the message was clear, at least what she believes the message to be: solidarity. 

She’s not the only one who notices. A few times, her brother glances over his shoulder and looks at the two of them. At first, he scowls, just as he had been the last few days at Astarion. But the second and third time, he gives his sister a sheepish smile. 

“You’ve got the bow again,” he comments. Indeed, Sephrin has the bow on her back. Despite still not liking using it, she feels better having it. When she nods, he continues. “You know, you surprised me, back at the goblin camp I mean. I...shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did.”

It wasn’t what she was expecting. But at this point, she’s not sure what to expect anymore. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Astarion making some sort of face, but she doesn’t get a good enough glance to see it. She’s not sure what to say, so all she says is, “O-Oh.” 

Glynren gives a little amused huff. “It sort of reminds me of that game you used to make me play. The one I hated.” When she doesn’t answer, he turns to her with a smile. “‘I’m going on a dragon hunt.’” 

That makes Sephrin smile and blush. Gale looks over at the two siblings. “Is that the one where you list things you’d bring?”

“That’s the one,” Glynren sighs. “Sephrin would beat me every time.”

Shadowheart glances back. “How does someone win at listing things?”

“The idea of the game,” Gale explains, “Is that each person takes a turn and adds something to the list. But the trick is you have to remember everything that was added and in the correct order.” 

“Right,” Glynren nods. “So for instance...I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing along arrows. Then Gale would go, and…” He gestures to the wizard. 

Gale chuckles. “Oh, are we actually playing? Let’s see...I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing along a book of spells and arrows.” He then looks to Shadowheart expectantly. 

She rolls her eyes. “That sounds annoying.”

“Oh come on,” Wyll laughs. “It’ll help pass the time. I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.” 

Shadowheart sighs. “Fine. I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing...I don’t know, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.” She then looks to Lae’zel.

“No.” is all the Githyanki says. 

Deciding not to push it, Shadowheart looks to Astarion and Sephrin. “What about you two love birds?”

The smile leaves Sephrin’s face as she turns red and looks away. Astarion looks to her for a moment before sighing. “Very well,” he says dramatically. “I’ll go next. I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing plenty of booze, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.” 

“You would bring booze to hunt a dragon?” Wyll asks. 

Astarion snorts. “I would have to be drunk to want to hunt one.” He then taps Sephrin’s head. “Your turn.”

She’s quiet, and at first, they assume she’s too afraid to play. But after a moment, she speaks up. “I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing a box of bountiful berries, plenty of booze, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.”

“You and your fucking alliterations,” Glynren groans, but he smiles. “This is why I always lose. I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing ten feet of rope, a box of bountiful berries, plenty of booze, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.” 

Gale rubs the back of his neck. “Didn’t realize we could get descriptive. I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing a glass vial of Basilisk phlegm, ten feet of rope, a box of bountiful berries, plenty of booze, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.” 

Wyll shakes his head but chuckles. “I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing...a hoard of precious gold, a glass vial of Basilisk phlegm, ten feet of rope, a box of bountiful berries, plenty of booze, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows. Gods, that’s quite a list.”

When it gets quiet, Shadowheart looks at them all. “Oh, I stopped listening once Gale started speaking.” 

“That sounds about right,” Gale nods. 

Wyll looks to the back. “Then it’s your turn, Astarion.”

He doesn’t answer right away, studying Sephrin next to him. She seems to stand up straighter, her head tilting to the left, her arms folded behind her back. He also notices her eyes aren’t fixated on the ground. Sighing, he rolls his eyes toward the sky. “I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing…” he suddenly smirks. “...a stack of erotic novels, a hoard of precious gold, a glass vial of Basilisk phlegm, ten feet of rope, a box of bountiful berries, plenty of booze, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.” 

The others groaned when he made his addition. Yet he was slightly disappointed to not get a reaction from Sephrin. In fact, her only reaction is in taking her turn, speaking as if answering a question in a lecture hall. “I’m going on a dragon hunt, and I’m bringing a very old and valuable pair of magic shoes, a stack of erotic novels, a hoard of precious gold, a glass vial of Basilisk phlegm, ten feet of rope, a box of bountiful berries, plenty of booze, a spear, a sword, a book of spells, and arrows.” 

The game goes on for a time. Astarion loses the next round, yet much like Shadowheart, he doesn’t seem to try very hard to succeed. He spends the rest of the game watching Sephrin, how her eyes dart back and forth as she listens to the others, almost as if she were reading the list in the air. Glynren is the next to lose. He couldn’t remember the correct order of the adjectives Gale gave to a staff. Soon after, it is Wyll who loses, leaving just Gale and Sephrin to add to the list. The longer the list gets, the more enthusiastic Sephrin seems to be. The two of them seem to compete to create the most ridiculously long description of an item. But there is no winner to the game. Lae’zel ends it with a death glare and a threat that if they continue it any longer, she would personally see to it that neither one would be able to speak again. Gale suggests they just call it a tie, which makes Sephrin frown, but she agrees. 

“You’ve got a good memory,” Gale admits. 

Sephrin shrugs, and now that the game is over, Astarion notices her body language reverts to closing off. “I...like memorizing things.”

Astarion snorts. “You enjoy memorizing things? Why? What possible joy could that bring?” 

She glances at him. “I like...keeping my mind occupied.” 

His face softens as he recalls what she said last night: _ “It’s very mean to me. Calls me names. Tells me how pathetic I am. What an awful person I am.”  _

With a little smirk, he leans over and whispers in her ear. “I’ll keep that mind of yours occupied.” 

It’s an innocent enough statement, but the way he practically purrs has her turning red. Swiftly, she tries to bat him with her little fist, which he’s able to avoid, but he laughs with a panicked smile, mentioning how another inch to the left and they would have had a problem. This, in turn, makes her blush more, but his laugh is contagious, making her smile. Glynren keeps a wary eye on them.

It takes another hour or two for them to reach the town. The town itself is not much to look at, only a few roads, maybe only a hundred or so people populating it. But it’s a town nonetheless. Everyone had their own supplies they wanted to gather, so Astarion made sure to snatch Sephrin away before her brother could, disappearing down a street. 

Away from the others, Astarion guides Sephrin through the town’s main street, examining shop windows, obviously searching for something. But Sephrin has no idea what he’s looking for, and he doesn’t answer when she asks. Finally, he smiles and leads her into a shop. The storefront is narrow, the walls lined with fabrics of various materials and colors. Before Sephrin can question why they’re here, a human woman peeks up from the counter and greets them as she wraps up her mending.

Astarion grips Sephrin by the shoulders, speaking in his overly dramatic fashion. “My dear, we are in  _ desperate _ need of your services.” Sephrin finds herself being pushed toward the woman. “This wilted flower needs pruning to help her petals see the sun again.” 

Flower? Petals? With all the fabric, she thought this was a tailor. 

Indeed, the woman gives Astarion a puzzled smile, but she looks Sephrin over. “Aye? I wouldn’t say you’re in desperate need, but I certainly have some pieces that would look lovely on you.” 

It takes Sephrin a moment to realize the woman was addressing her and not Astarion. “M-Me? Oh, I, I don’t need…”

“Clothing is a necessity, miss,” the woman nods. She’s not about to lose a sale, not when someone as flashy as Astarion walks into her store. “And -meaning no offense to you- yours look like they’ve lived past their prime.”

Frowning, Sephrin ducks her head, and she can’t help but notice the tattered, frayed hem of her skirt, the little holes that hide near the seams. Was Astarion ashamed of her, embarrassed to be seen by someone who dressed so shabbily? 

“I,” she bites her lip. “W-We’re traveling…”

The woman nods. “Oh, of course! I wouldn’t be putting you in a ball gown. But practical doesn’t have to mean…” she gestures to Sephrin’s dress, trying to think of a nicer word than rags. When nothing comes to mind, she shrugs. “Well, at any rate, it never hurts to update your wardrobe.”

Sephrin hears the distinctive clink of money, and her head shoots up to watch the exchange. But Astarion was too quick for her, placing the money in the woman’s hand without letting Sephrin see how much. “I leave her in your capable hands,” he says. “Work your magic.”

Pocketing the money, the woman takes Sephrin by the hand and guides her to the back of her store. Here, premade starts of various dresses, skirts, shirts, and trousers all hang, waiting to be fitted and completed. The woman places her in front of a mirror, and Sephrin almost doesn’t look in it, not wanting to see what the travel in the woods has done to her. But when she does, she cannot help but focus on the clothes. They do look worn and faded, patches of dirt here and there. She’s so focused that she jumps when she feels the woman’s hand on her. Swiftly, the woman starts taking measurements, around the waist, her hips, her shoulders, her bust. She murmurs to herself as she works, and when Sephrin hears some of the numbers, she blenches. The numbers are higher than she recalls them being, though not by a lot. 

The woman must have noticed her face because she smiles. “Ah, don’t you fret over that. You’re still a pretty peach. Your boyfriend can attest to that.” 

“B-Boyfriend?” Sephrin feels her face heating up again. 

Rummaging through the clothes, the woman hums. “He’s definitely not your husband, that I’m sure of. A husband wouldn’t care so much what his wife wore, or rather he’d be wanting her to dress more like you do now.” She pulls out a dress and looks over at Sephrin before frowning and putting the dress back. This happens a few times, and there are some moments the woman just studies Sephrin in general. 

“You know,” the woman continues, moving to a different pile of clothes. “I don’t normally just let a man come in and tell me to dress his woman up all fancy. If a lady wants new clothes, she can tell me herself. But I’m making an exception this time. You wear too many neutrals, too much brown. It mutes you too much.” Holding a bundle of cloth, she moves to stand between Sephrin and the mirror. “Now don’t you panic. Nothing too drastic. Just a touch of color to open you up.”

Open her up? Sephrin doesn’t like the sound of that. But before she knows it, she’s letting the woman undress her, replacing her old shirt, stiff with sweat and at one time white, with a thin linen one of ivory. Sephrin has to admit it feels better wearing a clean shirt. After a few adjustments, it fits better than her old one as well. Next the tights. Surprisingly, these are of a cedar brown. Sephrin thought the woman didn’t want her brown, but she keeps quiet. The skirt needs the most adjusting, being too long for Sephrin’s frame. A soft pine green that the woman embroiders with a cream hem. 

Once all the adjustments are made, the woman steps away, letting Sephrin see herself in the mirror. The girl braces herself, legitimately afraid of what she was going to see. For some reason, she thought the image before her would be so drastically different. But the girl in the mirror is clearly herself. Everything is still rather plain, nothing too elaborate or bold, but the little touch of color makes her look more...lively.

“One more thing,” the woman says. She ties Sephrin’s hair with a green ribbon, slightly brighter than the skirt. She smiles at the girl. “Green brings out the blue in your eyes.” 

For whatever reason, Sephrin finds it difficult to look away from the mirror. Such a small adjustment, and yet…

The woman smiles and takes her by the arm again. “Come on. Let’s show you off.” 

Back at the storefront, Astarion made himself comfortable leaning against the windowsill, lost in thought. He snaps to attention, though, when the women return. Sephrin can’t bring herself to look at him, but there’s a mischievous glint to his eyes as he smiles. He offers the tailor an exaggerated bow. “You’re quite the miracle worker.”

The woman rolls her eyes, but she smiles at Sephrin and hands her her old clothes. “Now you have nice clothes and travel wear. Keep that head of yours up. You’ve got to show off my good work.”

As they leave, Astarion offers Sephrin his arm. Sephrin takes it with florid cheeks. The whole situation still has her in a tizzy. Once they are far enough away from the shop, she ventures to ask, “Wh-what was all that about?”

He continues watching ahead of them as he answers her. “What was what all about?”

“Th-this,” she tugs at the skirt. “This little...dress up game.”

Now he glances at her. “Do you not like it?”

That wasn’t an answer, but it makes her blink. “Wh...well, I…” 

Smiling, he guides her down another street, but he continues to not answer her question. She almost asks again, but she instead looks to the sky. The sun is beginning to set. “We should, shouldn’t we look for the others?” 

“Do you  _ want  _ to find the others?” 

Now it’s her turn to not answer because when she thinks about it, she doesn’t. Walking along arm-in-arm with Astarion is...nice. 

“Besides,” he adds, “They’ll end up where we’re going.”

She doesn’t have to ask where, as she recognizes their destination as soon as he opens the door for her: an inn. Which, in a small town like this, doubles as a tavern. Even this early in the evening, patrons litter the room. As a few eyes cast upon her, Sephrin shrinks back, stumbling into Astarion. Delicately, he places a hand against the small of her back and guides her in. They take a place off to the side, and Sephrin takes a seat immediately, trying her best to appear small. He tells her to wait there before walking off. Sephrin’s eyes don’t dare follow, afraid to accidentally make eye contact with someone. 

After a few moments alone, someone sits down across from her. She glances up, expecting it to be Astarion. But it’s not. It’s some man she’s never seen before in her life. Eyes wide, she quickly looks back down at her lap. 

“Aw, why’s a pretty flower like you hiding in the corner?” 

Again with the flower comments. Why is it always a flower? Was there a book that all men read before talking to women? Whoever wrote it should be flogged. 

The man tilts his head, trying to get a glimpse of eye contact. “I haven’t seen you around town before. You a traveler?” 

No, she magically appeared here. Maybe if she keeps ignoring him, he’ll just go away. It doesn’t seem to be the case. The more she buttons up, the more he pries. He tries for her name, where she’s from, anything to get her to speak. None of it works. All it does is make her withdraw further into herself. And all this does is make the man grit his teeth. 

Instantly, she tenses when the man grips her shoulder. But before the man can say anything else, a cup is placed on the table. Astarion sits down next to them, bringing another cup to his lips.

“Please,” he hums. “Don’t stop on my account.” 

Sephrin finally looks up, seeing the man looming over her. He must have stood when he grabbed her. But now that Astarion is here, the man takes his hand away, holding it up defensively in Astarion’s direction. 

“I didn’t mean no offense,” he says as he starts to back away.

Astarion cocks a brow, but overall, he appears calm and collected. “I’m not sure what you’re apologizing for. You haven’t done anything to offend me.” 

The man gestures to Sephrin, but he still looks to Astarion. “I didn’t realize-”

“Realize what?” Astarion interrupts. His voice is still calm, but his eyes are starting to harden. “That she was ignoring you? That she wanted you to leave her alone?” He looks to Sephrin. “That’s what you wanted, right darling? Or did you want him to continue pestering you?”

She flinches when she’s addressed, but she shakes her head.

Astarion smiles at her and then gives the man a pointed look. “Apologize to her.” 

By this point, the man looks like he wants to bolt, but he turns back to Sephrin and mutters, “Sorry…”

“No, no,” Astarion tuts, crossing his legs. “On your knees.”

“What?” 

Astarion gives him a haughty glare. “Down,  _ now _ .”

The man sinks to his knees, watching Astarion as he does so. But once on the ground, he looks to Sephrin. “I, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Astarion urges. 

“F-For bothering you.”

“Put it all together.”

“I’m s-sorry for bothering you.” 

Astarion then looks to Sephrin. “Do you accept?” She blinks, studying Astarion’s face. He seems to be getting some enjoyment out of this power play. Still shocked by the situation, she gives a little nod. Astarion smiles and returns the nod to her before returning to his haughty countenance and glaring at the man. “You’re lucky. Leave,  _ now _ .”

On cue, the man gets up and stalks off, mumbling something as he goes. Once gone Sephrin releases a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding. Astarion slides the other cup to her, and she snatches it off the table and gulps most of the contents down. A rich red wine. 

“Th-thank you,” she murmurs into her cup. He says nothing and merely nods, examining her. 

The two of them drink in silence for a time, Astarion making sure to refill Sephrin’s glass whenever it empties. Just as he predicted, the rest of the group filter in through the doors, and by that point, Sephrin is pleasantly buzzed. Glynren notices that and her new wardrobe right away, but he doesn’t say anything to her. He knows who to blame for both things. He and Astarion exchange their glares but manage to sit together civilly. The seven of them manage to have a somewhat cordial evening together, not having to worry about setting up camp or finding their dinner. Even Sephrin manages to contribute to the conversation, though by that point, Astarion stops refilling her glass. 

Sleeping arrangements were odd. The inn only had three rooms available, so they had to make do. No one complained since it gave them a break from sleeping outside. Besides, they were all used to having no privacy as it was. 

As she lay on the floor, Sephrin watches Astarion in his trance. Through her buzz, she can’t help but reflect on the last few days, on this strange relationship of theirs. She wants to ask him about it, what he thinks about it, about her. Perhaps it’s the booze that makes her reach out and disturb him. She feels bad when he flinches, but he quickly fixes his gaze on her. Before he can ask what’s wrong, she breaks the silence.

“What am I to you?”

He stares at her a moment or two, then sighs. “Don’t ask me this when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk,” she pouts. 

But he shakes his head. “Go to sleep, Sephrin.”

She frowns, but Astarion returns to his meditation. Fine, if he won’t answer her when she’s “drunk,” she’ll make sure to ask him when the morning comes. 


End file.
